


skin like molten gold

by Kermits_Soft_Kitty



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Because he needs it. Period., Fluff, Lots of Tony Appreciation!, M/M, No Dialogue, POV Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kermits_Soft_Kitty/pseuds/Kermits_Soft_Kitty
Summary: But everything about this Tony, the Tony reserved for Steve explicitly, was softer and more rounded, but never less magnificent or beautiful. If anything, he was more so, languidly stretched out in the copper bathtub, one arm draped over the top of the lip like some ethereal God.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just some soft boys in love. This was brainstormed during a 7 hour shift at self scan and I couldn't get it out of my head so I blurted it all down, soppy adjectives, verbs and nouns included. It's so self indulgent. Not set in any particular universe; mentions the Young Avengers/eye colour/founding Avengers/palladium poisoning & AR removal briefly but that's it. It's a hodgepodge, really. The south of France bathroom is based on my experience of my old home there :-) 
> 
> No Beta (I like living life on the edge with bad apostrophes and hanging sentences).(I'm sorry about them & all errors).(I truly am).

 

* * *

 

 

As an artist, Steve appreciated the notion that there were a lot of different forms art could take. So, weary from a six hour flight over from America to the UK, followed by a layover of an hour at Heathrow and then roughly another hour aboard a plane to Carcassonne, and one in a car, Steve’s own appreciation for one specific art form took a turn for the positive when greeted by the sight in front of him, an art form he knew intimately well and revered with every shard of his soul.

Here, in the quiet depths of Southern France in a secluded villa hidden amongst the vineyards, the light streaming in through the partially shuttered windows seemed to have a gentler kindness about it. Where it grazed the gentle slope of Tony’s shoulder, the rays brushed liquid bronze in great strokes over his exposed skin, like the sun was the painter and Tony the subject of his desire. The usual sharpness of his jaw was softened by the glancing touch of warm shadows that cast his eyes into lazy pools of glittering gold, and his hair fell across his forehead in soft waves, a contrast to the usually tight-laced businessman he tended to be back in New York. But everything about this Tony, the Tony reserved for Steve explicitly, was softer and more rounded, but never less magnificent or beautiful. If anything, he was more so, languidly stretched out in the copper bathtub, one arm draped over the top of the lip like some ethereal God, damp fingertips grazing the slate floor as his head turned to shoot a glance at Steve. The weight of his gaze sent warmth blushing through Steve’s chest, curling around his ribs like a strong, hardy vine, the flowers blossoming directly across the beating centre of his heart.

A smile touched Tony’s lips as Steve headed across to him, eyes taking on an emotion Steve couldn’t place, but knew was from his heart. Steam clung to Steve’s skin, tiny droplets of moisture easing the tight, rigid set of his jaw and neck from where he’d been travelling too long. Sinking to the floor, body stretched into the patch of sunlight dripping across the cool floor, he rested his head against the bathtub, closing his eyes as Tony’s other hand came up to brush through his hair. Wet paths quickly cooled against his skin from where Tony had had his hand in the bathwater, but with the rest of his body curled into the heat of the setting day, he couldn’t particularly care. The temperature in the bathroom was pleasant anyway, causing him to shuck off his overcoat as he settled into peaceful silence.

The smell of salt and sandalwood diffused up from the steaming bathwater, accompanied by the rich undertone of Tony’s natural scent. Steve took in a deep, steadying breath, endorphins rushing up and down his spine at the gentle caress of Tony’s fingertips against his temple, and felt muscles unclench and relax slowly. He knew he would need further assistance to push out the remaining tension and stress, but that was what they were here for: it was what they’d booked the three weeks off to do. Under no circumstances, forgoing an invasion, were they to be contacted by any official body - S.H. I. E. L. D, FBI, any government worldwide or even any of the Avengers. This was time for them both to unwind and chill, a rare moment of stillness in their hectic, flyway lives.

Steve glanced up at Tony through heavy eyes, taking in the subtleties and nuances of his boyfriends body. Under the heat of the setting sun, Tony’s skin was like bronze, shining with a sheen of moisture from the temperature of the water. His head was tilted to the side, showing off his beard that was more unkempt than the last time Steve had seen him. Tony no longer had his iconic goatee, but more of a scruffy model look going on, five o’clock shadow creeping up his cheeks and down his throat. It was oddly alluring. His eyebrows, masterfully kept thick and sharp by Darcy and her tweezers, winged soft, sleepy eyes with sweeping eyelashes that would have even the most professional makeup artists weep with unbridled joy. Tony still had that same, loving expression settled on his face, and his hand squeezed Steve’s jaw gently. Steve turned to kiss his wrist in response.

A glancing shaft of light illuminated the faint scar where the arc reactor used to sit; the fading white marks under his flesh from the palladium poisoning, and other small cuts and scrapes and nicks gained from his role as a founding Avenger. With the angle of the light in the room, the water was almost slate-grey, but Steve knew that later he’d be able to trace the sharp (too sharp) cut of Tony’s hips, the way they sloped into strong thighs and calves with strangely, but not unwelcome, delicate ankles and feet. He’d be able to feel the bony parts of Tony’s knees that Steve always complained about but probably couldn’t live without digging into his butt in the middle of the night: the dark hair on his legs.

Later on, Steve would re-learn the contours of Tony’s strong body, re-educate himself with how much everyone tended to underestimate his other half. Together they would re-discover one another's quirks, habits and the passion that once fuelled the beginning of their relationship, but had quickly dwindled with the training, educating and general wrangling of the Young Avengers. Whilst their love had by no means gone, it was a struggle to keep everything as tight-knit as the press printed, and both Steve and Tony desperately wanted to get back to a place where they understood what made one another tick; quick, furtive engagements after stressful days at work followed by not seeing one another for weeks on end would put a strain one anyones relationship.

But here, in the sweltering heat of France, ensconced in the bathroom with the man he loved more than he ever thought he could, listening to cicadas chirp away in the lavender bushes under the heat of the sun, Steve could feel himself breathe again.

He looked forwards to what the future had in store for them.


End file.
